


The Forty-sixth Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: The Senad Sentinel Tidbits Files by Many and Varied [46]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Senslash Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	The Forty-sixth Sentinel Tidbits File by Many and Varied

## The Forty-sixth Sentinel Tidbits File

by Many and Varied

Author's disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, these tidbits aren't mine. Honestly, I'm not responsible for any of it! 

Rating: the whole range  
Pairings: J/B (mostly!) 

* * *

Tidbit #1 

ObSenad: 

Jim wearily plodded up the steps to his dark bedroom, wincing as over-worked muscled protested another climb. A new, grisly find in a muddy ravine had pulled him away from his first free evening since the gang war had erupted several days earlier. He must have climbed that sodden incline a hundred times, if once -- first knees protesting at the unusual demands, then hamstrings, and quads, and ankles until his entire lower body was a low creak of pain. 

He hauled himself up the final stair, only to heave an exasperated sigh at the state of his bed. No sheets, no comforter, pillows denuded of their covers. His nose wrinkled in annoyance as his tired brain reported where, exactly, his bedclothes currently resided. In the basement, along with most of his clothes -- a marathon of laundry had been planned for the evening before Simon's terse phone call had dragged him out into the cold, wet night. 

Maybe he could sleep on the bare mattress. He shivered in his boxers as he looked at the cold, slick surface and remembered that he didn't even have a blanket. Even his sleeping bag was several flights away in his basement storage locker. He sighed again, too exhausted to muster anything beyond sleepy frustration. So, it was the couch, then. 

He turned on the stairs and before he could check his descent, he remembered. No couches, either. They were being recovered in a fabric chosen to more gracefully withstand Blair's absent-minded spills of exotic beverages. His overtaxed legs shakily bore him to the main floor, and he stood for a moment in indecision. 

A stray hope that Blair had somehow magically figured out that Jim had stupidly washed all of his sheets at once flitted merrily through his mind. But there was no smell of over-baked dryer sheets in the darkened loft, and he knew it was hopeless. The ridiculousness of the situation forced a derisive snort of amusement from him as he wandered toward the kitchen, navigating around the trail of muddy apparel he had stripped off on his way from the front door to his coveted bed. He couldn't even muster the energy to pick up his wet clothes -- how was he going to pull on his sodden jeans, find some quarters, go to the basement, and wait an hour until he had something dry to sleep in? 

//Forget it,// he said to himself. //Maybe Blair's got a blanket I can use. I'm tired enough to sleep anywhere.// 

He headed for the partially closed glass doors, reflexively listening to Blair's even breathing. The doors opened with uneven resistance, displaying a disaster of a room. Clothing, books, papers -- everything seemed to be on the floor. Not even in Blair's usual recognizable piles. //Well, it _has_ been a very busy week.// Jim had rarely seen Blair outside of their work together, as finals and other deadlines loomed with the end of the year. 

//There is no way I'm going to be able to find anything in here// he thought dejectedly. A twinge of self-pity threaded through him, and he looked at Blair's sleeping form with envy. Buried underneath the quilt, he was the picture of contentment with his hair tumbled about his face and a hand curled beneath his chin. Jim recognized the gesture; Naomi had a scrapbook filled with toddler-Blairs in that very same posture. He couldn't stop the smile that came to his lips -- Blair hated being called "cute". But he was; oh, how he was. He closed his eyes in an effort to avoid falling into the trap of desire he had recently discovered within himself. //I'm not going to think of him _that_ way, anymore.// 

Some more overly-critical part of Jim recognized the shift from protective to possessive, but the rest of him seized on the excuse of exhaustion and gave free rein to his imagination. He saw himself sliding under the quilt, sharing the warmth with Blair, smelling him close, pulling a pliant body against his. 

//Well, why not?// Except for the bit about wrapping himself around Blair, what was wrong with the idea? There was no other place to sleep -- surely Blair wouldn't begrudge him a night's rest? He'd been harping on that very subject that morning, pointedly arguing that if Jim kept pushing the limits of his endurance that he was bound to "do a serious crash-and-burn, man". Jim took a step through the debris, then halted as Blair moved slightly. //Should I wake him up? What would I say?// 

Jim tried to think of coherent answers, but even dull reason abandoned him and action took over. He waded through the rest of the junk and eased down onto the mattress. It smelled good here, like Blair and his concoctions and his eco-friendly belongings. His nose cringed at his own contribution, a mix of mud and decaying leaves, dried sweat and blood where he'd landed hard on a sharp rock, but he couldn't muster the energy to change his mind. 

He patted Blair gently through the quilt, testing his response. There was none, so he pushed his feet under the warm quilt and slid down a bit to get comfortable. The heat was enticing, and there was just enough room to lie on his side next to his friend. His head sunk into the edge of a pillow, eyes on the dark pile of curls for only a moment before they closed. He fought to stay awake, to enjoy this moment before he had to come up with an explanation for his uncharacteristic behavior. There couldn't be any explanations, he dimly thought. //No good reason for it.// 

//Except this,// he concluded, snaking an arm under the quilt to wrap around Blair's stomach, pulling their bodies close in the warm, thick darkness. 

\--end-- 

Chaomath  


* * *

Tidbit #2 

ObSenad: 

"Jim. Jim?" 

"Huh?" The detective blinked. 

"I got the results from ballistics. You okay, man? That's the second time you've zoned out since we came in this morning." 

Jim shook his head, trying to throw off a nagging discomfort. "I don't know, something's distracting me. I can't quite put my finger on it." 

"What is it? Something subtle -- a smell, maybe?" 

"No, I think it's a sound, but I can't place it. Here, give me that report." 

"The bullet matches," Blair said smugly. "But I think we should try to track down what's bugging you . . ." 

Jim ignored his partner, scanning the report quickly. "Great, with this we can get a warrant. We'll have Buckley off the streets within an hour." Jim carried the report towards Simon's office. 

Blair tagged along. "Jim, wait, don't you think --" He broke off as be bumped into the taller man, who had stopped abruptly just inside Simon's office. 

The captain was scowling at his half-full coffee cup. Shaking his head, he pushed it aside. "Yes?" he barked at Jim. He began to rummage in one of his desk drawers. "Well, what is it?" he demanded, pulling out a roll of antacid tablets. 

"We have the ballistics report on the Buckley case," Blair said slowly, placing a hand on Jim's shoulder. 

The detective shook himself. "You feeling okay, Simon?" 

"I'm fine," the captain growled. "Let me see the report." He held out a hand. 

"You didn't eat your Danish." Jim gestured at the pineapple confection that sat untouched on Simon's desk. 

"I have a little indigestion. Can I see the report?" 

Jim handed the paper across almost absently, then bent down to murmur in his partner's ear. Blair gave him a startled look. 

"Just do it," Jim said softly, and Blair hurried out of the office. 

"Good," Simon approved, looking over the report. "I'll call Judge Bartlett and get the ball rolling on a warrant." 

"Don't worry about that, Simon, we'll take care of it. Are you hot?" 

"What?" Simon looked up at the detective for the first time, frowning. 

"You're sweating. Are you too hot?" 

"No, I . . . well, I guess it is a little warm in here." Simon stood. "I can open a window." 

Jim was blocking his way. "Sit down, Simon." 

"What -- Jim, what are you doing?" 

"Would you please sit down, sir? I'll get the window if you want." 

"What the hell is up with you, Ellison?" Simon sank slowly back into his chair. 

"When was your last physical, sir?" 

"Eight months ago -- you know that!" 

"Did the doctor say anything about your heart?" 

"What are you getting at?" 

"I think you're having a heart attack, Simon." 

Jaw dropping, Simon stared. "That's crazy, Jim. I'm only 46! Just because my stomach is upset doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me!" 

"Please stay calm, sir." 

"The hell I will! There's nothing wrong with me -- I'm healthy as a horse." 

"Simon, you have high cholesterol. You smoke, you're black, and you work in a high-stress job -- that spells high blood pressure, which means your heart has to work twice as hard as normal, all day, every day." 

"Dammit, Ellison, my blood pressure is none of your business! If it's high, that's because I have to deal with people like you!" 

"Look at me, Simon." Jim spoke intensely, in the low voice he had learned from Sandburg. It worked; Simon shut up and looked at his detective, listening warily. "You know about my senses. I can hear it -- I can hear your heart struggling." 

Simon swallowed. "It's just indigestion," he protested. 

"No, sir, it's your heart. But there's still time. If you see a doctor right now, you can prevent any serious damage." 

"I have work to do -- I can't just walk away from it!" 

"Or," Jim went on grimly, "you can keep pushing yourself until your heart gives out. It could happen tomorrow, or next month -- or five minutes from now. If you're lucky, you'll only have to take a few months off work to recover. If you're not lucky, you'll end up six feet under -- or a vegetable. Is that what you want? Who'll help Daryl grow into a man if you're gone? Or what about me and Sandburg -- do you think I'd have half a chance keeping him as my partner with somebody else in your place? And how long do you think I'd last on the streets without him to help me with this Sentinel thing?" 

Simon's eyes went from Jim to the roll of Rolaids, to Daryl's school picture, and back to Jim. 

"Trust me, sir. I can hear it. It's missing about one beat in ten." 

Simon's head drooped. "All right. Have it your way. I'll go see a doctor." 

Jim's hand on the captain's shoulder stopped him before he could stand up. "I already asked Blair to call for an ambulance." 

"You what! Dammit, Ellison --" 

"It's the best way, sir." 

"Why couldn't you just drive me yourself? No one would have to know . . . it could be a false alarm." 

"No exertion, Simon. Not even standing up and walking to the elevator. And if your heart stops on the way to the hospital, I want you in an ambulance, not a car seat where we can't even do CPR." 

Through the blinds on the office partition windows, a team of EMTs could be seen winding a gurney hastily through the maze of desks in the bullpen. 

"Gentlemen," Simon announced as Blair anxiously conducted the EMTs into the office, "this is just a false alarm, I'm sure. My stomach is upset, and my detective here got carried away." 

"Just let them check you out, Simon," Blair urged. 

"They have a portable heart monitor," Jim pointed out. "They can tell you right now if I'm right." 

Scowling darkly, Simon sat back and let the EMTs hook up their machine. Within five minutes, as persuasive as car salesmen, they had gotten him onto the gurney and were wheeling him out the door. "You haven't heard the last of this, Ellison," he muttered through clenched teeth as every member of the division stared at him. 

* * *

Late in the afternoon, Jim and Blair returned wearily to the bullpen. Concerned detectives mobbed them at once. 

Joel was the first to ask "How's Simon?" 

"He's okay," Jim assured everyone. "It was his heart, and they're keeping him in for observation overnight, but there was no damage to the heart muscle. They'll have him on medicine for his cholesterol and blood pressure, but he can probably come back to work tomorrow so long as he takes it easy for a while." 

Joel shook his head disbelievingly. "I don't know how you talked him into it, man. My father wouldn't listen to anyone when he had his first heart attack, and it nearly killed him." 

Blair grinned proudly. "Jim's a real persuasive talker when he wants to be." 

Jim ducked his head and changed the subject. "What's happening with the Buckley case? Simon made us promise to keep him updated." 

"All taken care of," Rafe assured them. "Buckley's in the holding cell right now." 

Brown put in his share. "Just tell Simon he doesn't have to worry even if he takes a few days off. We got it all covered, man. He's gonna be proud of us." 

-finis- 

Russ  


* * *

Tidbit #3 

ObSenad: 

Blair walked into the Loft, shutting the door quietly behind him and dropping his backpack on the floor. He let out a heavy sigh. 

"Hey," Jim greeted. "What's wrong?" he said, realizing Blair was down. 

"I'm just bummed." 

"Come over here," Jim patted the couch next to himself. 

Blair went over and sat next to his lover, watching Jim click off the silent images on the television screen. Jim wrapped an arm around the shorter man's broad shoulders. "Talk to me," Jim invited. 

"It's nothing specific, I just feel, blue. The weather is cold, it's raining nothing specific. I shouldn't even be unhappy, I mean, here I come home to you every day, I'm sleeping in your...'our' bed every night with your arms around me. How can I be sad for one day with a life like that in front of me?" Blair asked rhetorically. 

"Sometimes we're just blue, baby, there's nothing wrong with that. Maybe you should take a little time and meditate for a while." 

"I'm too strung up to meditate, I can't relax," Blair said. 

"Well, I know you're always telling me meditation is supposed to help all that but if you can't relax I think I know something that can help with that," Jim said, smiling now. 

"Oh, yeah?" Blair said, smiling for the first time. 

"Yeah." Jim reached over and started unbuttoning the shirt that was exposed from all the layers of clothing Blair was wearing. He eased a warm hand up underneath the t-shirt that covered Blair's softly haired chest. Jim looked into the blue eyes that were watching his every move. When Blair looked back, Jim eased in for a kiss. 

The warmth from the fireplace finally permeated Blair's chilled body and he started peeling off his outer cloths. The two men settling in for a long bout of kissing and fondling. Finally Jim said. "Let's go upstairs, it's warmer up there and I want to get to more of you." 

The two men stood and walked up the stairway to their bedroom. When he got to the top Jim undressed slowly, watching Blair do the same. When Jim was finished he pulled the covers back and climbed in between the sheets, reaching up to his lover who stood naked now before him. 

"Come here, babe, I'm going to make you forget the blues." 

Blair knelt onto the side of the bed then slipped in between the sheets next to his lover. "Oh, man these flannel sheets were the best idea you had this winter," he said has he snuggled up against Jim's warm body. "I think I've forgotten the blues already," Blair admitted. "I'm never blue when I'm in your arms." 

"Me either, that's why I thought this would work," Jim said. 

The two men kept warm that night, and Blair was relaxed enough to get a nice 20 minute meditation in before bedtime. 

:) 

Moz  


* * *

Tidbit #4 

ObSenad: 

Jim Ellison sat straight up in bed, unsure of what had woke him until he heard the soft moans coming from downstairs. He rolled out of bed and hurried down the steps. 

"Blair?" he called. 

Worried that his roommate had gotten sick, Jim walked into Blair's room without knocking. 

His jaw dropped. Blair was sound asleep with a small smile on his face and a huge erection in his boxers. 

"Oh, Jim, yes," he sighed, twisting his hips slightly in his sleep. 

Jim stood by, astonished, in the dark of Blair's bedroom. Blair was having a wet dream about him! So, Blair "Playboy" Sandburg felt the same way about Jim as Jim did about Blair. 

Blair moaned again. "Right there...oh, Jim!" His heartbeat picked up. 

_Should I...? No...oh, why not?_

Jim told his conscience to go to hell and knelt down by Blair's bed. "I'm here, baby," he whispered into Blair's ear, and began to stroke his Guide's curls. 

Blair smiled and turned his head into Jim's hand. 

Jim moved his hand down to Blair's face to caress the delicate cheekbones and jaw, then moved lower to run his fingers down the length of Blair's throat. Jim felt himself getting hard at the silky feel of the young anthropologist's skin under his fingers. 

"So this is what you feel like, Blair," Jim whispered. He leaned over and kissed Blair's neck. Blair sighed his pleasure, and Jim slid down to run his tongue across the length of prominent collarbone. 

God, Blair tasted so good! Jim turned up his senses and savored the sweet musky flavor of Blair's skin so pliant beneath his lips. 

Blair made a breathy protest as Jim removed his mouth but sighed again when he felt Jim relocate to his nipple. Jim threaded his tongue through the gold ring that pierced the hard flesh and tugged gently. He took the nipple into his mouth and suckled. Blair whimpered impatiently and arched into Jim's mouth. 

Desperate to feel his young Guide's body, Jim let his hands roam down Blair's chest ahead of his lips. He stopped to lick Blair's navel while his hands rubbed and caressed. The feel of Blair's flat stomach made Jim's cock throb, demanding attention. 

Jim kissed a path down the sleeping, responsive body of his roommate, pausing to lick and suck just to hear Blair murmur in drowsy delight. Each soft sound sent shivers through Jim, calling attention to his own need. He decided it was time for the grand finale before Blair woke up and knocked him out for taking liberties. 

Jim pushed the leg of Blair's boxers up and stared in frank amazement at the size of the erection straining against the material. He had always fantasized about how responsive Blair would be in bed, but this went beyond his wildest dreams. The young man throbbed and moaned at Jim's slightest touch, and almost came up off the bed when Jim touched his tongue lightly to the tip of Blair's erection. 

"Jim!" he breathed. "Oh, _yes_!" 

"Okay, baby," Jim soothed, "here it comes." he took Blair's impressive length into his mouth and began to suck forcefully, moving his head and tongue in a maddening rhythm, trying his best to drive Blair insane with lust. One hand reached into his own boxers to relieve his own need. 

Jim synchronized the movements of his hand on himself and his mouth on Blair. He felt himself ready to come, but held back; he knew Blair was close when he felt the heaviness of his sac, and Jim wanted them to come together. He slid his tongue up Blair's length and sucked hard on the tip. 

Blair threw his head back on the pillow and wailed. "Oh, Jim! Yes! Oh, God, yes!" he cried out and gushed into Jim's mouth. 

Jim sucked harder to keep from screaming as he came at the same time, Blair's name running through his head like a mantra. 

Jim removed his hands from both pair of boxers and waited in the dark for his heart to slow. He stood stiffly and looked down at the sleeping form on the bed. Blair was smiling sweetly and making soft, satisfied noises. 

He leaned down and kissed Blair gently. 

"Sweet dreams, Chief." 

\--The End-- 

Tex  


* * *

Tidbit #5 

OBSENAD: Lube in all the _wrong_ places? 

Miraculously, they had run out of lube. That was not good. 

Not good at all, Jim Ellison mused as he sat behind his desk typing up his latest report. Lube was essential. And they'd run out of it. 

"Geez, get your act together, Ellison," the detective muttered as he hit the 'erase' key to replace "Mr. Lube's Steaks" by "Mr. Tube Steaks". Why did they have to bust the guy at that place anyway? He didn't have any lube with him either. 

Jim sighed. 

Lube and nude. Oh, what a poet he was. 

Down the street the drugstore should carry KY Jelly. The thought came to mind as Jim finished the report and the paper lubed out of the printer... Sneaked out of the printer. 

Shaking his head, Jim tore of the form, signed it and placed it into the outbox on his desk. 

"Hi, Jim." 

Blair's pleasant voice shook the older man out of his lube-lulled trance and he smiled as his lover approached his desk. 

"Where've you been?" Jim scolded gently, pulling Blair closer. 

The two men exchanged a short, hot kiss. With the bullpen empty like a grave-yard at midnight, they could risk the intimacy. Everyone had gone home by now, only a few people from the cleaning staff were still in the building to take care of their business. 

"Uhm, busy," Blair replied, grinning widely. 

Jim stood up and after scanning the area for any life form - human or otherwise - he enfolded the younger man into a tight embrace. 

"I missed you." 

Blair's smiled wickedly. "How much?" he inquired. 

Jim thought for a moment. "So much that I could use a whole tube of lube on you." The Sentinel felt his arousal starting at the mere thought of entering that slippery tunnel of his lover's ass here on his desk. 

"Show me," Blair whispered and opened the fly of his jeans. Before the stunned Ellison could react, the anthropologist took his large hand and steered him into his pants. "Now..." 

The Sentinel felt the hot flesh of Blair's skin as his hand inched forward inside Sandburg's pants. Touching Blair's growing erection, the young man groaned with pleasure, pressing his body against Jim's. Following the unspoken request, Jim's hand brushed over Blair's hips, reaching the firm flesh of ass cheeks made in heaven. The confines of the jeans made it a bit difficult to perform any artistic movements, and Jim just pulled his lover closer while his fingers trailed down the sweet cleft. 

Blair whimpered passionately, as the delicate touch sent shivers of lust through his entire body. 

"Jim....," he panted. "More..." 

"We don't have anyth...," Jim protested when his fingertips touched Blair's slick-with-lube anus. "What...?" he began, but Blair pushed back against his hand. 

"We have enough," Blair moaned deliciously. 

Jim's finger pushed inside him. 

The end ;-) 

Danny  


* * *

End Sentinel Tidbits File #46.

 


End file.
